


Stop Calling Me Bitch

by crowleyshouseplant (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-01
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruby/Anna drabble with love, sweetness, and mild violence</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop Calling Me Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Based off another prompt from ass-halation on tumblr; submitted anonymously

In the sunlight, Anna's hair is like fire. Not a campfire licking at marshmallows on sticks, not a quiet candle flame, not a fire that rushes across forests underneath its pillars of smoke and ash, but fire like dragon tongues, like a meteor, ribboned with solar flares, plummeting from space, burning through the atmosphere.

Ruby doesn't care what happens when meteors crash into hard solid earth.

Anna never eats lunch inside—she always sits on the grass, legs tucked close under her, skin stained green, hair caught in her lips, tongue licking away honey mustard. “I see you,” she says, not bothering to look up from her sandwich. “Watching me.”

Ruby doesn't tell Anna that she wasn't exactly trying to hide, watching her without even stepping into the shadow of a nearby tree. But she slips towards her, sun hot on her skin, and sinks beside Anna flat on her back so she can look up at her, hair bright like the flash of a thousand swords stained with blood, glinting in the sun.

“You have eyes in the back of your head, to see me standing beside you like that?” Ruby traces the outline of Anna's kneecap with her fingertips—not soft enough to tickle because she doesn't fancy getting kicked.

“The grass told me,” Anna says, tearing off a piece of her sandwich and giving it to Ruby.

Ruby doesn't swipe at Anna's finger with her tongue, even though Anna invites her to, whispering against her lips with her thumb as she waits for Ruby to take the proffered bite with her teeth. “You have any french fries to go with that?”

“If I had, I would have saved them for you,” Anna says.

Ruby's stomach free-falls, flipping from her throat to her toes and back again. She presses her palm against Anna's knee, fingers resting in the hollows there on the side. Anna lets her. One day, Ruby wonders if Anna will let her braid her hair, hot with the sun, molten with heat and fire. Ruby wonders if she should ask her—today when they're both lazy and lethargic and Anna thumbed her lip, feeding her bread.

“Don't you have a class?” Anna says.

“I do. But I don't want to go. It's just a review. And I'm awesome and know it already.”

“I shouldn't be, but I'm glad you're here,” Anna says. “I hate eating alone.”

“I know.” Ruby squeezes her knee. “I remember. I don't care that you disapprove,” Ruby says, when she sees the frown pucker Anna's forehead. “School will be here tomorrow.”

Anna stretches out her feet so that Ruby's hand falls into the grass. “Because I'm worth it?” her voice has a hard edge to it.

“Yeah,” Ruby says, clasping her hands over her stomach, shoving up the hem of her shirt as she did so.

“You'd do anything to make me smile,” Anna says, leaning over Ruby, one hand beside her head.

Ruby slides her hand up Anna's neck until her hand grips her jaw as she surges upwards, presses her lips to Anna, whose mouth is already opening to let her in, and as they kiss, tongues speaking against each other, Ruby twines her fingers in Anna's hair, pulling and tugging until she's sure it will be snagged all together in knots and snarls, and maybe she can offer to brush those out too, kneeling behind Anna on the lawns, combing until it's all smooth, and asking Anna to let her twist it into a braid and surely Anna would let her if she's sticking her tongue down Ruby's throat.

She breaks the kiss, opens her mouth to ask because Anna is soft—but she's always soft—because Anna starts it—but they both start it half the time—because Anna sometimes has that hard edge to her voice, and nothing softer to line it with, and Ruby doesn't understand if Anna is here, both knees stained with grass, or here and elsewhere at the same time because sometimes her voice comes from far away like an echo and maybe Ruby will find the rest of her in her mouth or in her hair or if Anna ever invites her to come over when she's still in her pajamas and allows Ruby to make her waffles for breakfast while they watch Saturday morning cartoons.

But before she can continue, someone's voice—harsh and leering, jarring and discordant, whistles at them, complaining that the show had ended, that they were too feminine to be a couple of dykes. And Anna stops kissing Ruby, puts her from her, and her eyes are like flint as she turns her attention to the boy, and he doesn't care—just sticks his tongue out obscenely--and maybe Anna doesn't care either as she pulls Ruby up by her hands and tries to walk off in the opposite direction, arm wrapped close around her waist, hand stuck in the front pocket of her pocket, resting in the cradle of her hip.

Ruby does care though—and she slips away from Anna—wondering what it means that Anna doesn't even try to stop her as she rolls her shoulders, loosening them up, muscles coiling because Ruby is going to do this and not for the first time—she wonders if Anna even knows about the other times—probably not because then Anna wouldn't want to kiss her if she knew.

The boy doesn't stop talking as Ruby approaches, doesn't even look scared like he should be, so Ruby doesn't even give him a chance to take it back, to apologize, because words were too flimsy to take back--they'd always be there, ringing around in Anna's brain, trapped there like little mice, and so she knees him in the groin and the pain muzzles him so that nothing coherent can come out.

But then he calls her _bitch_ and she grips his shoulder, digging her thumb into the pressure point there, kicking his leg out from under him so that he collapses to his knees, panting and angry as she hisses, “Don't call me bitch,” and she slugs him with her fist (even though she knows there are better ways to do this) because, she says in between blows which serve as full-stops, no questions asked, Anna is not some cheerleader embodying his wet dream in a nirvana music video, that her name is Anna and that Ruby will love her whole life, and she's sure that Anna has already gone because this is violent and ugly as blood wells from his lips and coats his teeth slickly and there's already a bruise over his eye and Ruby wonders as the dull ache from his face meeting her fist throbs over her body and ebbs over her chest, if Anna is still there and wonders if she'd ever be willing to teach Ruby how to listen to the grass--

And someone wraps her fingers around Ruby's arm and she freezes because she recognizes the pastel pink of Anna's nails as the boy whimpers at her feet. “Enough,” Anna says, her eyes still like flint as she shifts them to look at the boy.

Ruby snaps her arm away from Anna, and Anna shakes her head before making her way to the school. “We're going to have to tell someone.”

“Fine,” Ruby says. She walks a few paces behind Anna, wishing that Anna would look behind her. Yell at her. Tell her she had no right. That there was a moral high ground and that she had lost it. She glances down at her scraped and bloody knuckles. Dumb fucking way to fight and she knew it and she didn't care.

But Anna doesn't usually give her the silent treatment and Ruby wonders if this is a code for something, like the silence means something even though there's no breath giving it shape into something that Ruby can process and understand. “I'm not going to apologize,” she says because maybe that's what Anna is waiting for—Ruby knew lots of people who stopped speaking to each other for a lot less.

Anna stops then, turns around, locks eyes on Ruby, then tilts her head to look at the boy still clutching himself on the grass. “You don't care that you just beat the shit out of some guy.”

Ruby squares her shoulders. “Should I? He fucking deserved it.”

Anna swipes her tongue over her lips. “You don't care that I might have had a problem with it. Especially since the bastard was already down.”

“I'm not going to go around wearing What Would Anna Do bracelets if that's what you mean,” Ruby says.

And then Anna smiles and it's so big it forces off the frown, forces her muscles in her face to relax instead of pinched downwards. She holds out her hand, and when Ruby says, “My hands are dirty” – because they were, they were filthy with blood and mud and grass from when she had missed his face and tore into the ground instead – Anna doesn't listen and just holds her tight in her palm, fingers twining together, ignoring the way the blood smeared across her own skin, like she had been fighting too.

“You're not like other people,” Anna says.

And Ruby doesn't ask for clarification because why would she be like other people.

“Let's go to the restroom and clean this up,” Anna says.

“Will you kiss it better, Florence?”

Anna brought Ruby's hand to her lips, kissed the knuckles softly. “Like you even had to ask.”  


End file.
